Quotes About Beauty

Then solar systems, galaxies, supernovas, infinite space itself will become elements of a final masterwork--a never-ending festival, a celestial amusement park in which every exploding star and spinning electron is part of the empyreal choreography.

we are happy to be here, where the sky has always seemed a little bluer, the leaves a little greener, than in other towns we know.

And she was not beautiful asleep. Her expression slack and not angelic. The very ordinariness of it so beautiful he felt a yearning to be something more than he was or could be. And as good a player as he was, he knew as he turned on the reel to reel and hugged the Fender once again that nothing he composed would ever be as beautiful as her ordinary sleep. Watching her he played the music of her sleeping. And by surrendering made something beautiful.

the stars. They were yesterday's confetti in the sky, thrown away by a billion careless lovers.

At length Old Tiro returned, lifting the curtain for his master. How shall I describe Marcus Tullius Cicero? The beautiful all look alike, but a plain man is plain according to his own peculiarity.

But it wasn't Helen's face alone that launched the Greeks' celebrated thousand ships. It was the lure of booty.

Maybe nature is fundamentally ugly, chaotic and complicated. But if it's like that, then I want out.

There is a beauty in these laws that mirrors something that is built into the structure of the universe at a very deep level

Plato and the neo-Platonists taught that the beauty we see in nature is a reflection of the beauty of the ultimate, the nous. For us, too, the beauty of present theories is an anticipation, a premonition, of the beauty of the final theory. And in any case, we would not accept any theory as final unless it were beautiful.

She smelled too. Like a 22 year old girl. He tried to place that smell but he couldn't. It seemed like a mixture of skin lotion and confidence.

The grass is green The tulip is red A ginger cat walks over The pink almond petals on the flower bed. Enough has been said to show It is life we are taking about. - Oh grateful colours; bright looks!

Niets is zo mooi als de eerste eenzame minuten met iemand die jou zou kunnen beminnen en iemand die je zelf zou kunnen beminnen. Er bestaat niets dat zo stil is als die minuten, niets zo verzadigd met liefdelijke verwachting. In die paar minuten heeft men lief, niet in de vele die volgen. Nooit meer weet zij, zal zo iets schoons hen overkomen. Blijer zullen ze misschien worden, beter ook, en oneindig tevreden met elkaars lichaam. Maar nooit zal het meer zo schoon zijn.

Quite suddenly, he is moved. And he sees that the son is moved, too. To keep their emotions alive, the father pours them both another shot. He doesn't want to make the son drunk. He just wants to make him beautiful. And anyone who is moved is beautiful. He is already beautiful. He has beautiful moist eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are silky. And when they toasted the fourth time, he is even gentler. And when he speaks, he speaks so beautifully.

But where is the root of suffering? He begins talking about the happiness of suffering, about the beauty of suffering. Suffering is not dirty, suffering is not pitiable. No, suffering is great because suffering makes people great...It is impossible to convince him that suffering is something unworthy.

In de weerdij van dien laatsten zomer dat ze te boere had overgebracht, was Mira van kind tot volslagen deerne uitgegroeid; slank en mager nog, onvast en los in de gewrichten, maar begaafd met al de kennis en streken om het verleidelijke van 't geen haar van vorm en vrouwelijk fatsoen nog ontbrak, als ontluikende schoonheid te doen uitkomen, en de rest als een belofte te laten gelden.

Sweet desert rose Each of her veils, a secret promise This desert flower No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this

You'll remember me when the west wind moves Upon the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold

His kin are proud of themselves and because none of them are truly ugly, Wraethru are never ashamed to admit they are beautiful. Only in a world where ugliness prevails is it a shame to be vain, a cruelty to appreciate loveliness in oneself.

Tatrini could see why he'd caused so much trouble in his life. She believed that true beauty was essentually fueled by evil. Almorante had loved him, as had Bayard, in his peculiar way, and also Khaster Leckery. Now, it appeared, Valraven Palindrake had been visiting Tayven in captivity. Was this another lovelorn victim? If Bayard possessed half of Tayven's essence, he would be an indomitable force, but that perhaps was not a desirable circumstance.

The dawn was beginning to bloom around him, and already the land was held in that surreal stillness that heralds the transition between night and day.

I heard the scrape of a soft shoe and then the curtain was lifted by a single hand. I saw the long slim arm and the dark shape of the body, a tumble of loose hair that fell about him like a frayed cloak. He brought a breeze with him that warmed the flame of the lamp, and sent shadows of laughter across the face of the goddess.

He seemed to be dancing alone, Cressida a mere elemental shadow around him. How beautiful he looked.

He, like dead Rephain, was one of those bright blooms that grow quickly flaccid on the vine, eaten by decay in an evening's rain.

I studied her beautiful features. No, this was a real person; she was not an image, not a ghost, not a fantasy.